Lothiriel
by iamgeorgiapeach
Summary: After the Battle of Gondor, Eomerking meets Princess Lothiriel and sparks fly immediately.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Timelines are sped up, or slowed down, basically at my artistic whim. But in general, it's fairly accurate to Tolkien. I just love an actually useful Lothiriel.

* * *

Eomer functioned well in chaos. It was part of why he was so successful in battle, he kept an enemy straight in front of him, a watchful eye on his men, _and_ a clarity of mind few could. But in the days after the Battle at Minas Tirith, before the Great March, he could barely walk straight.

His whole body bent only towards staying by his sister's side, where he could pray for continued healing. And his mind was constantly straying to the long march to Mordor that would occur in a few days hence.

It was thus he could beg ignorance on his first meeting with Princess Lothiriel, Daughter of Dol Amroth and Regent Stewardess of Gondor. For when he first met her, she looked anything but the highest born mortal lady in Middle Earth.

He had just burst from his quarters, headed to meet with Aragorn's newly formed council, and then to the healing rooms to see Eowyn. Lothiriel was sitting on the floor, back against the wall outside his room, somewhat covered in papers. She had been reading, Eomer assumed.

She looked up and met his gaze, and busied herself with getting up and collecting her things "Ah, apologies, your grace. Moments to myself are few and far between. I have some business matters to discuss with you, briefly."

Eomer could do nothing but squint at her. It was not yet dawn and he, to the best of his knowledge, had never met this woman before.

The very pretty lady paused a moment and then said, "… perhaps we could walk and talk? I'm sure you're on your way to meet with Aragorn and his council."

Again, Eomer just squinted, for how could she know his plans? Was she a page? Or some demented admirer, laying in wait outside his room? And yet, who would bring paperwork to an ambush? And why, in hell's name, was she even awake, let alone dressed in her elegant finery, and towing about what seems a book's worth of papers?

She was clearly expectantly looking at him.

"Er, yes," he said clearing his throat, "what can I do for you, uh, Lady?"

She tilted an eyebrow up, and Eomer swore he saw a hint of a smirk, on her very pink full lips, and oh Bema, now he was staring at her mouth.

Now clearly smiling at him, she began walking away in the direct of the Stewards' quarters. Eomer shook his head, gathered his thoughts, "its like I've forgotten that I'm a King… about to march to my sure demise… and the rest of my family dead, and with my sister at death's door."

Now somber, Eomer strode after her, catching up quickly to her. She was ruffling through her papers while walking, and she began speaking as soon as he was about three steps behind her,

"So I've been reading up on the Riddermark. But key aspects are glaringly missing from whatever archives I look in," she began, "such as population counts, especially for women and children."

"For what purpose would you need such a figure?", Eomer questioned her.

She did not look up from her letter she was reading, and completely ignored his question "Should Rohan not have a full or recent census, I imagine you could still estimate the number of villages, and their numbers. Anything official I found was provided at least fifty years ago."

Eomer gritted his teeth, "Since my uncle ascended the throne, I cannot remember any counts being made, but I am still novice to politics. I'll ask you again, why could you humanly need such a number."

His suddenly aggressive tone brought her eyes to his-

"I have need of it, Eomerking, because if the worst occurs, and you fail in Mordor, I want to try and save your people." Her grey eyes turned to steel while she continued, "And I need to know what sort of suicide mission I'm embarking on."

He stopped dead in the hallway, empty save him and this damnable woman, who had stopped alongside him, staring up at him- all traces of humor or brightness gone.

And that was when Eomer finally understood, though it was immediately shoved down deep inside his mind, how truly lovely she was. Though she had the typical coloring of all Gondorians, something in her features and manner was decidedly Elfin. Whatever her ancestry, it was undeniable one of them was immortal, and the preeminent grace shined through the generations.

"My lady," he began in a slightly more kind tone, "surely, you cannot imagine to mount a mission that would take you closer to the enemy. And what position are in you even to attempt such a thing?"

"I'll worry about all that, and I assure you, I will carefully consider all matters at hand. But the questions, still stand, how many women and children are there left in the Mark?"

The two stared at each other. Something in her manner called to mind Eowyn in an argument, though this woman's countenance and demeanor was decidedly more controlled than Eowyn's, or even his own, famed temper. He had known her for six hallways, and maybe as many minutes, but he felt absolutely certain she was a consummate politician.

Eomer cleared his throat, and started walking again- "My lady, I…. I'm unsure on those. My exposure to… my Uncle's court was… limited at best," he said, feeling his way around such delicate issues like his banishment and Grimá Wormtongue, "but when on the road to Meduseld from Helm's Deep, I believe my Marshall, Eothain counted heads of survivors."

She nodded along, and shuffled her papers- coming to pass him one of her many letters.

In Eothain's own personal brand of chicken scratch were numbers on women and children, injured and uninjured from the battle of Helm's Deep.

"This would be accurate, then? I was hesitant to base anything on something that's passed through so many hands, but if you-"

Nearing the door to Aragorn's private counsel offices, Eomer knew their time without onlookers was coming to a close, so he interrupted her- "How in hell did you get this?"

Turning to face him, she grinned. Again, Eomer was blown away by her beauty; the perfect impishness of her face- "I keep strange friends, my Lord."

Her mercurial nature was hard to keep up with, she went from commanding to amused to questioning faster than anyone he'd ever met. But what happened next was even harder to keep up with.

In a loud clamber of arrival, several men entered the hallway- Imrahil and his sons.

Eomer had become battle field friends with them all, though their own natures were so disparate. Imrahil was wise though a bit irreverent, Elphir quiet and bookish, Erchirion intense and brash, and Amrothos was mischievousness personified.

"Ah, 'Thiri, there you are! And Eomer! Good to see you!" shouted Erchirion, covering Amrothos' own deafening call of greeting.

"It is good to see you Eomer, even so early in the morn," welcomed Imrahil, coming upon Eomer and this supposed Thiri-woman. Sidling past Eomer, he slid his arm around the young woman and kissed her temple.

Eomer must have looked shocked because her grin, which hadn't slipped yet, widened. Just then Aragorn poked his head out of his rooms,

"Ah, friends. Please come in."

Legolas, Gimli, Gandalf, sat around a wide circular table in a well appointed room, with at least ten empty chairs. The room was stuffy (with pipe smoke and the smell of the hundreds of old manuscripts and scrolls that lined the walls) but a cool breeze wafted through the open window- with the lovely view of the sprawling white city of Minas Tirith below, dawn just peeking over the horizon.

All the Dol Amrothian royalty and the still smiling woman poured into the room, quickly filling seats as if they had been in this room hundreds of times- which Eomer assumed the menfolk probably had, as relatives of Denethor. But the woman, unloading her papers onto the table, and greeting the elf, wizard, and dwarf politely, seemed quite at home too. He himself had rarely felt so out of place, and gripped Eothain's letter tighter in his hand.

Aragorn clapped Eomer on his back and said,

"Welcome, my friend, to the council room of the Stewards of Gondor. You are a welcome breath of fresh air to some old minds in an old room."

"Old? Speak for yourself, Aragorn! Though I bet you'll want to do some re-decorating, eh?", Imrahil offhandedly said, fingering one of Thiri's pages as she passed him more.

"Not my first order of business," Aragorn spoke, "I'm afraid we have a much more grim task at hand."

"Are we to march then? To Mordor?" Gimli asked gruffly.

"We have little choice," Gandalf said, pausing his quiet puffs on his pipe.

"I have called you all to ask if you will march with me, yes," Aragorn said, "and to discuss what our contingency plans are. Failure cannot be an option, but it is a reality we must face nonetheless."

Eomer finally spoke-

"Surely all of Middle Earth could not survive Mordor's onslaught, if we fail. What use is a contingency plan?"

It was Legolas who spoke into the solemn silence that followed Eomer's question,

"Where there is life, there is hope. Humans survived in Sauron's rule in the First Age, they could theoretically do so again." He paused, then added, "and hope, no matter how dim, should never be lost."

Aragorn cleared his throat, "and that is why I've asked you here, Lady Lothiriel. Truly you know more of Gondor's state than even I, and have a comparable grasp on things outside the realm."

Nearly every one in the room, swung round to stare at the lady in question. She didn't balk from the questioning stares, but Eomer could have sworn he saw discomfort in her eyes. But he reminded himself he barely knew her, however natural he felt in her presence.

"Natural?", he thought. Where had that come from?

Gimli asked, not unkindly, "and who might you be, lovely Lady?"

"We'd all love to know that," mused Eomer to himself.

But it was Imrahil who spoke, "This is my daughter, Princess Lothiriel of Dol Amroth."

Eomer was glad he hadn't taken a drink of anything, for he would have surely spat anything out. He hadn't known Imrahil had a daughter. And now he felt quite regretful he was staring at her mouth earlier. Or even that he was staring at her now. Damn.

"Yes," continued Aragorn, "for the last ten years or so, it was her and Boromir who ran Minas Tirith, or rather Gondor at large, when Denethor was in one of his states. And Lothiriel is a great friend to me and my fellow Rangers. We often would rely on her knowledge of goings on in Middle Earth."

Practically everyone's eyebrows shot up, excluding her family. Or at least Amrothos managed to look bored anyway.

Legolas asked the question on Eomer's mind- "and how did you manage this, my Lady?"

She smiled at him, near perfect elegance in her every move, "Because my position in my Uncle's court allowed me nigh on free range and limitless access, with minimal oversight. And servants in Minas Tirith trusted me with their secrets. Essentially, Prince Legolas, I run a spy ring."

He'd known her for about ten minutes. She was a complete stranger, and yet Eomer felt as if he was barely surprised.

* * *

Lothiriel finished the meeting, answering any and all questions with as much grace and courage as she could muster, despite being ill-accustomed to total transparency. The spy, or even the Princess, in her wanted to keep her secrets, but she could comfort herself with keeping her sources to herself.

But if she was being honest with herself, the vaguely ill feeling in her belly was only half to do with discomfort of being the center of attention. The other half was nerves from the very piercing green eyes of Rohan's new King.

The rumors had swirled that Eomer-king was wild, and she could see how they started. The breadth of his shoulders was bigger than that of her brothers, perhaps larger than even Aragorn's. And his wild blonde hair looked somewhat untameable. But his own behavior was both of straightforwardness and candor, which she was certain had spooked any Gondorian court noble into starting rumors about him.

In the hallways, he had very quickly adapted to her rushed questioning, and with minimal effort on her part, had willingly answered her questions. Her being a woman seemed to not faze him, though she suspected that with his sister being the Witch King Killer that was bred into him specifically and may not have been a characteristic of all Rohirric people.

"Damnably attractive, and quick witted" had been her last thought on him before her family had happened upon them in the hallway. That and, why on Earth she had thought practically pouncing on him outside his rooms was a good idea. Though it had its merits…

"Focus, 'Thiri," she reminded herself.

Aragorn was recapping the decision of the counsel on whether it was better to have the army leave in two groups or one campaign, when Lothiriel felt Eomer's eyes on her again. She stared back, somewhat uninhibited by her lack of sleep.

"Gods above, when was the last time I've had a true night's rest" she thought to herself, "weeks before the Battle of Minas Tirith certainly. Between managing Denethor, subtly preparing the city for battle, worrying for my family, meetings with informants, and writing missives… I'm not even entirely certain when made it last to a bed, rather than catching minutes asleep at this table."

"Then it is settled," Eomer's deep voice broke through her reverie.

"Yes, we ride in two day's time for the Black Gate. Princess Lothiriel is to assume the duties of Steward here, and dispatch her people to bring all women and children to Minas Tirith, should the worst occur," continued Aragorn.

All men ayed. She ayed.

As they all arose, Lothiriel felt her fathers hand grab her own, and quickly squeeze. The action nearly overwhelmed her, but to show it would not do. Dimly, grimly she smiled at him.

Though everyone stood, no one moved to leave the room, pardon Eomer who had moved to her elbow. Elbereth knows how he moved as quiet as Faramir for a man near twice his size.

"My lady, I believe we have more to speak on, but I am anxious to see my sister. Perhaps we could continue to the Healing Quarters together?"

Lothiriel nodded, and squeezed her father's hand once more, before dropping it. She turned to gather her things, and then realized it would be of no use. She turned towards Aragorn to say,

"Aragorn, if it wouldn't bother you, I would leave my things here. I'll return after sitting with Faramir."

"Of course, 'Thiriel. This was and is your office before anyone else's, and I feel obliged to share now," Aragorn said kindly.

A soft smile for him, her old friend. She had met him when she was but twelve, new to Gondorian court and even newer to the world of spycraft. Her now deceased mentor Halbarad had introduced the two. How in the world could anyone have predicted that that same man with a bloody sword strapped to his back and kindness in his smile would have become her new King?

She turned back to Eomer, who was squinting at the two with keen eyes. That squint broke through her reverie on irony, and almost made her smile. He squinted a lot and it was precious. Though she doubted he'd enjoy being called precious.

Gesturing to the door with a nod of her head, she picked up her gown and curtsied to the room at large. Only Legolas paused his conversation with one of her brothers long enough to formally bow back, though she received nods or waves from everyone else.

They began walking down the same hallway they had just come from- and even Lothiriel had a difficult time reading whether the silence between her and Eomerking was comfortable or not.

"So you're a spy?" Eomer broke the silence,

"Yes."

"And you're very good at it, or so it would seem."

"I am. I am very good at this." Lothiriel knew her self-confidence could ring unfounded, but she hoped the meeting at least proved her competency.

He held the door for her, she lightly smiled at him in thanks. He nodded- and they walked in tandem down the halls. Quietly, but also peacefully. Like they'd been friends for longer than just a few hours.

As soon as they broke out of the hall, and into the day, she paused on the steps. She couldn't help herself to bask in warmth for just a second, eyes closed against the sudden sunlight. But even a moment was too long, for when she opened her eyes, Eomer was staring at her, a slight smile playing at his lips and something heated in his gaze.

Unbidden and unable to help it, she smiled back at him, and she spoke,

"It was a long day and night yesterday. I suppose I just needed a second to thank the sun for being here. For coming out after the battle."

He nodded, sadness replacing whatever had just been in his eye. They turned to start walking again.

She held herself back from touching his arm. It would have been to bring him comfort, but that sort of familiarity would have been… unwelcome, surely. No-one wants sympathy from a stranger, even one who understood the feeling of loss.

Lothiriel had been eleven years old when her mother passed away- trying to give birth to one more Prince of Dol Amroth. Neither survived. And that grief hadn't ebbed away when Denethor had demanded her presence to fill in as hostess after Finduilas's own untimely death many years prior. According to her uncle, Minas Tirith had gone too long without a mistress. She had been young girl, suddenly away from everything she'd ever known. And then Boromir and Faramir had become her friends, and introduced her to Halbarad, so she could find a purpose in all this change. But now… she had lost Halbarad, and now she'd lost Boromir. She'd also lost Denethor, but felt significantly less gloomy about that. Uncle Denethor had made a nuisance of himself at the best of times, and at the worst, was her waking nightmare.

So she said nothing, and neither did he, even as they reached the Houses of Healing.

* * *

Picking their way through the filled halls of people in pain, trying to not be in the way, they were led by a grey fleshed man to the more private, quieter room in the back.

Eomer knocked gently onto his sister's room, where he heard a faint "come in". He entered, and had his breath knocked out by the sight of his sister. Sitting up in bed, blessedly alive where before Aragorn had spoke over her, she looked like death.

Here she was, alive and smiling at him, over the shoulder of a fair haired man. At that he frowned, as he heard Lothiriel exclaim behind him, stepping up beside him.

"Faramir, what on Earth are you doing out of bed?"

"So this is Faramir," Eomer thought as the man turned. A bit younger than himself, but more delicately put together. He looked thin, a bit bookish, but hardy. And he looked beyond pleased to see Lothiriel.

"Ah, 'Thiri! No need to fuss, I've been feeling so much better and needed some company."

At that, Eowyn behind him blushed, and Eomer felt his heart drop out.

"Damn you Eowyn," he thought, "you've barely regained consciousness, let alone recovered your heart from gifting it to Aragorn."

And maybe his feelings showed on his face, because Eowyn's face steeled for a fight, but Lothiriel, surprising him and maybe surprising herself, put a cautionary hand on his arm and spoke,

"Still Faramir. You both really ought to be resting. Plus if you say you want company, and yet don't send for me, my feelings will start to become injured." She said drily.

Faramir smiled knowingly, and bickered back, "'Thiri, if I wanted company to come and either depress me or fall asleep on me, you'd be my first pick."

Lothiriel, in mock outrage, but her eyes twinkled, stepped closer to him, "Depress you? Am I not witty enough to entertain the clever Faramir, who has neglected in his brilliance to introduce me to his new friend?"

Eomer stared at her, who so quickly and easily understood the emotion's of everyone in this room, and how to set a tense situation at ease.

Faramir also looked back at her, twisting in his seat to include Eomer in the conversation,

"Well then, pardon my atrocious manners, cousin. Though I neglected to hear you introduce your new acquaintance as well."

Lothiriel breathed a laugh, the first he had heard from her despite numerous smiles, and replied, "That would be because I knew you already knew who he was. But since we're being sticklers for propriety, this is Eomer, King of Rohan. And _you_ must be Eowyn, I've been waiting to meet you quite anxiously."

Eowyn looked a little uneasy, though less like she was going to throttle Eomer for being over-protective.

"My name is Lothiriel," she said kindly, sitting down in the chair beside Faramir's, "Princess of Dol Amroth."

"_You're_ the Princess?" Asked Eowyn.

"That's what they tell me, at least," she said, again with a little laugh. She leaned back in her seat, and smiled. Eomer watched as she settled in comfortably, slipping off her slippers and tucking bare feet under her gown's hem. Surprising that, for the high born noble of a famously prickly and overly-mannered court.

But he saw why- as Eowyn relaxed back into her pillows and smile tentatively back. They looked like friends. Bema, they _should_ be friends. Eowyn probably had never met anyone so well matched to her own interests before, though even knowing her for a just one morning, they had vastly different tactics to bring their ideas to fruition.

"They usually call her the Princess, unless she's found coming in through the back entrance of the kitchen dressed like a teenage boy, then they just call her an urchin. Let me tell you Eowyn, of 'Thiri's adventures..." started Faramir.

And so the morning passed, and friends were made. Eomer found respect for Faramir, who was so unlike Eomer that the two found amusement in it. Faramir teased Lothiriel about times she'd nearly been caught out in some mishap or another. Lothiriel in turn told a story about the first time Faramir had tried a bow and arrow and nearly shot her in the eye which caused everyone to laugh. Eowyn and Eomer didn't share stories, the loss of Theodred and Theoden to recent to find humor in the past. But it still felt light and happy, and Eomer found himself wondering about the Princess.

He specifically found himself wondering at the casual relationship between Aragon and Lothiriel. They'd obviously known each other for years. Was she the one Aragorn spoke of, when he said his heart was another's?

Eomer understood that his heart clenched at the thought, and he didn't dislike the thought, but he did find the timing highly inconvenient. Had he just met her years before…

Or would that have made the march he's about to make even harder? Was it better to glimpse happiness and not truly feel it, or to know it and then leave it behind?

These somber thoughts seemed to affect the mood of the whole room, though Bema knows how it could have.

Faramir grimaced and said what every one was thinking, "so, when do you leave?"

Lothiriel immediately saddened and Eomer felt his heart slide even further in her direction. Maybe he wasn't the only one to wonder about what could have been.

"Two days time." Eomer replied.

And the four of them fell to the discussion of the impending march, battle (again), and the defenses of both Rohan and Gondor. It was a tense discussion, but worthwhile. Eowyn and Eomer provided Lothiriel with lots of insight on Rohan's defenses, while Lothiriel and Faramir spoke on Gondor's. It was clear that Lothiriel had been deeply involved in the Gondorian army, probably since she was a slip of a girl.

But when the sun was high in the sky, and Eowyn looked exhausted, Faramir excused himself back to his own convalescing room. Eomer touched Lothiriel's shoulder (and felt a shock reverb through his body) and gestured towards the door. She nodded and they left the Houses of Healing quietly, and their two family members behind.

Eomer inhaled deeply as they entered the streets. He met Lothiriel's eyes as she heaved her own deep, clearing breath. The Houses of Healing, after the battle, smelled like potions, cleaning supplies, and suffering.

Lothiriel glanced away, and the now noon sun caught the auburn in what a fool would consider just dark brown hair. Her gray eyes were dark and serious, but she herself proved to be able to find merriment in just about anything. Probably a side effect of growing up with Amrothos.

Eomer could admit to himself, she was enchanting. And even in the midst of some of his darkest days he'll ever have- he knew that she was as good a match for him as she seemed. She could be a partner, a confidant, a friend, a- a wife. And a Queen. "What on earth is she thinking," he wondered.

And just then she turned to him, quick and fast as if her mind had been made up in whatever moment she'd just privately had. She stepped close to him and pulled off one of her pretty golden rings-

"Did you know why all Dol Amrothians' wear rings?" But she didn't leave him enough time to answer, she continued on, "Each is for a different reason. Every parent has one for each of their children; a lifelong friend may receive rings from one another, and every… every spouse wears one for their partner."

She rolled the ring in between her long, elegant fingers and lightly calloused palm; and stepped into that final step to be sharing the same breath as Eomer. "It would honor me, if you would wear this. As a token."

Eomer should have been surprised, and maybe he was deep, deep down. But overwhelmingly he felt certain. His larger, rougher hand reached over hers, holding it. He met her eyes, "To bring me home safe, milady?"

"Yes, to bring you back safe. Safe." She repeated the last word. But she never looked away from his gaze.

And so the newly minted King of Rohan held the hand of the Princess of Dol Amroth in middle of the busy streets of Minas Tirith. But despite the bustle around them, they stayed still- staring into each others eyes and feeling the beginning of something.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: AH! It makes me so happy people like this story! Truth be told, this is my first time publishing my stories, but this one has been tickling at the back of my mind for forever. So basically, every review you send me is like an actual hug (and maybe a little like heroin?). So thank you so much for reviewing!

Also, and I think this matters to say, love like this isn't something that exists in real life. Immediate connections do, but love at first sight doesn't. And even though I'm guilty of the trope, I barely have time to write love at first sight! If I were being realistic and wrote it real time like an actual relationship, "Lothiriel" would be 10x longer than the six or so I have planned. So grains of salt and all that, but just roll with it!

* * *

It was after the sky cleared, and Sauron defeated, that Eomer first laughed. They were on the road back from Mordor, having just left the dismal mountains behind them and finally onto the plains of Ilithien. Spirits were high, and Eomer found himself near a roaring fire by his friends and blood-sworn comrades.

Imrahil took it upon himself to begin story-telling, but as soon as his sons started chiming in it quickly became a comedy routine. Even Legolas was seen to burst out laugh heartily.

Erkenbrand, seated next to Eomer, roared with laughter at a particular story where Imrahil was left stranded by his three sons on an island during a family sailing event. Even amidst the clearly hysterical, Eomer found his mind wandering to the Princess of Dol Amroth, where if he was honest, she had rarely left in the days after he'd met her.

He wore her ring about his neck on a leather string. It lay near his heart, but he attempted not to read too far into that. Though it did not help to be so close to her brothers and see every aspect of their sister in them. And as if he'd conjured her into the conversation he heard Amrothos say,

"That wasn't me, Father! Had I been the one to have dunked Erchirion in Belfalas Bay, surely you know I would have claimed it by now. If memory serves me correctly, that was little 'Thiri."

"'Thiri would have been but seven! Surely you don't mean to suggest she pitched _me_ off the side of the ship!", squirmed Erchirion, but the high pitch to his voice at the end gave him way, and the fireside group burst into laughter again. "Oh, fine whatever. She was always irrepressible and I dare anyone of you to hold up against her."

Laughter started again, and this time Eomer was amongst them.

Imrahil said, "You laugh Aragorn, but I think she won't be Erchirion's bane alone for much longer. Pray tell exactly, how you came to know my daughter? I've heard rumors but Lothiriel breaks into giggles when I mention it and won't confirm or deny a thing."

Aragorn looked immediately aghast, and every one quieted down to hear whatever had the usually put together Heir of Isildur so flustered. But he told the story anyway.

"It wasn't as if I was any green boy, I was about seventy five years of age when I met 'Thiriel. All I knew was Halbarad, who I had known for twenty odd years, was bringing someone new to our meeting. This in itself shouldn't have been odd occurrence, but Halbarad was as old as I was, but without the Numenorean heritage to bless him with long life. He was a bit rickety and set in his ways. I thought perhaps he needed someone to help him get around, maybe read things to him. But what I wasn't prepared for was a little slip of a girl, not yet thirteen, to be accompanying him. And even more shocking was Halbarad insisted that she was his protegé."

The whole campfire leaned in closer, even those who knew Lothiriel seemed to hang on his every word. Aragorn continued,

"Well, I thought he'd finally cracked. And so I asked him, all in Elvish mind you, if he'd gone off his rocker. And Halbarad, the crazy bastard, just started grinning and laughing. Said I should fight her myself if I didn't believe she was merited. I had just come down from the North, had been fighting Orcs all the way, and I certainly wasn't about to draw my blade against this child. But 'Thiriel looked like she was about to murder me in cold blood she was so mad, which should have been my tip off she knew Elvish, but I just kept at Halbarad, how in the world could he expect me to fight such a tiny thing, and a girl at that? At some point in my tirade, she decided she'd had enough and suddenly crack! Something hit my head and I fell unconscious. Came about a few seconds later with little, tiny 'Thiriel standing over my head with a slingshot in her hand and looking about as mad as a wet cat."

The whole group shook with laughter, and Eothain leaned forward to speak as the noise set aside,

"So she's taken down both of you big Gondorian men before even coming of age, has she? I should like to meet such a fearsome little woman, though I tremble to think what she may do to me."

"She's little no longer," Aragorn replied. "She's long grown up. And I may add, she was suitably horrified she knocked out her "future liege", as she dramatically put about five seconds after Halbarad explained who I was. Though I believe 'Thiriel's since found the humor in it."

"And have you found the humor in it?" asked Gimli, still guffawing thinking about a twelve year old princess taking down one of his best friends, let alone one who was a dangerous Ranger for decades already.

"Yes, I found it immediately. I should have never spoken that way, its' not as if I didn't know women could fight just as well as men. After all, I had known Arwen for-," Aragorn cut off abruptly.

Legolas and Gandalf was the only ones who would have understood the name, but Eomer understood the significance. Arwen, after all, was not the same name as Lothiriel, and something in him loosened. That explained the necklace that Aragorn wore as well. In a brief second of panic he had thought perhaps Lothiriel made a habit of passing out pieces of her collection to any man she considered a friend, though he couldn't reconcile that with the decidedly forthright woman he knew her to be. Surely she would have communicated if there wasn't romantic feelings remotely involved in her token.

Imrahil leaned forward, "I long since suspected Lothiriel was an unsurpassable imp, but I'm glad to hear my daughter has made an impact. Quite literally in fact."

Everyone again laughed, but Imrahil didn't, and he gave Aragorn the sideways glance Eomer had begun to associate with scheming mothers.

Eomer heard his heart, rather than feel it as Imrahil asked, "And is this the story all Gondorians are to hear about how you two met?"

It wasn't as if Eomer had forgotten that Aragorn could lay claim to Lothiriel's hand regardless of whether she gave him pieces of her jewelry. She was already at the helm of his country, and the two were clearly close friends. His people blatantly adored her, and Council members would see the match as an obvious move to secure power for a new King. Truly the match would make sense, and Imrahil saw that. And if Imrahil saw that…

But Eomer's fretting was cut short by Aragorn himself-

"I don't suspect anyone outside this circle will ever hear that story. Lothiriel has kept it to herself, and Halbarad has since passed. And now if I hear it, I'll know who to blame!", attempting to bring mirth back into the conversation, and subtly telling Imrahil, no. There were no announcements to come.

Elphir, though, looked as if he wasn't ready to let the conversation slide so easily away- "It would seem as though you two have quite the foundation for Gondor's future to be built upon."

Eomer couldn't believe they were bandying about Lothiriel in this way! Surely just because she wasn't present didn't give them permission to speak for her.

"Oh Bema, though, what if she wants that union just as much as they obviously do?" He thought, and unconsciously his hand rose to the ring under his armor, "No, surely not."

But again Eomer's inner dialogue was cut short by Aragorn.

"I don't think you have much to worry about there. 'Thiriel has made it quite known she doesn't want to play second favorite to anyone."

Eomer's initial reaction was one of instant relief; and wonderment at who was his first love that he obviously still longed for? To turn away both Eowyn and Lothiriel… But then Aragorn's words sunk in- did that mean Aragorn had made an offer of marriage to her? Even if she'd refused once, was he likely to keep making advances? And was Lothiriel likely to give in? She might, especially if she thought her father and brothers encouraged the match, which they clearly did.

And as the night wore on, and the men one by one headed to bed beneath the stars, the worry never left his chest. What if she had just been a kind, sure-footed young woman with no ulterior motives?

What if her heart wasn't his for the taking, when she already begun to steal his away after just a few short days?

* * *

Lothiriel sat up suddenly, and her heart lept into her throat. It had been a nightmare, but the loud knocking at her door woke her at the height of it. She threw off the heavy velvet covers and made her way to the door. Throwing it open like a mad man, she immediately scared the knocker.

"Pardon the early hour, your highness," quickly dipped a maid, "but you asked to be awoken when we could see the men approaching."

Lothiriel blinked at the young lady, and frowned at the window behind her in the hall, "You mean to say, you've spotted the men approaching in the absolute dead of night?"

"Ah, no, you see, when you asked, I thought I would have an elf, one of the ones wounded in the battle- I met him in the Houses of Healing- be on the lookout. And he sent word, just now, that he could see the fires of the men in the distance. They seem to be on the Gondor/Ilithien border. With one day of good riding, they could be here by noontime tomorrow."

Lothiriel kept blinking, trying to understand the sheer amount of information this girl had just launched at her.

"Let me see if I've got this straight. You've woken me up to tell me that my family, the King of Gondor, and the King of Rohan, and all their men, are still leagues away from us?" Lothiriel rubbed her eyes, and tried to run a hand through her hair, only to get it stuck in her braid. She was sure she looked like an imbecile, but she was never one for waking up even in the best of circumstances.

"Um, yes. Yes ma'am, that is it."

"I'm sure I'll be more thankful for this in the morning- but right now I would just love to go back to sleep, okay? What was your name again?"

"Phinereal, your highness", the maid beamed at her.

Lothiriel dryly thought, "This one is obviously a night owl", but said aloud only, "Thank you Phinereal. That was good thinking about the elf. Please wake me in the morning and tell me all of this again, for I surely will think it was all a dream. Good night."

Closing the door roughly again, and making her way back to her bedchambers Lothiriel fell into her bed. She closed her eyes, snuggling again under her covers.

And yet sleep didn't come back. Instead her mind flew straight to where it was want to go.

Was Eomer unharmed? Had he kept all his limbs, had he be scarred or disfigured? Had he thought of her? Messengers had brought back news of their family's survival to her and Eowyn, but they knew next to nothing about their conditions.

Running the city in such peril the last few days had left Lothiriel exhausted and beyond busy, but she still found time to wonder about the tall, handsome man from Rohan. He was positively grim in moments, charming and delightful in others. But when he smiled… it was like pure sunlight.

She wasn't ashamed to admit her relief upon hearing his survival was as palpable it was for her father and brothers. But she didn't know what to make of it, and whether or not he felt the same way. She hoped he did.

Lothiriel wasn't naive enough to know he didn't _want_ her, but in her experience wanting sometimes had little to do with commitment. And for a Princess, wanting without commitment was dangerous.

Turning over in her bed and groaning, she needed to go back to sleep. Even if nightmares met her again, this overthinking would do no good. And it wasn't as if she could solve her riddles tonight.

And when sleep came, it came with dreams of sunlight breaking over the Eastern horizon, right over plains of Ilithien.

* * *

The men made excellent time, as if every man had family and friends waiting back in Minas Tirith, which Eomer guessed most did. Even his men were anxious to return from battle, to the comforts of a city and off the road. Somewhere with ale and a soft bed, he surmised.

Soon enough they reached Osgoliath, and could see the White City shimmering in the distance. Two people, a lady and a man, with horses grazing nearby, were waiting on the outskirts of the ruined city.

Something in Eomer's heart burst as he recognized the lady.

He spurred on Firefoot, outpaced the rest of the riders quickly, and as soon as he was near enough he practically threw himself off his horse to gather her in his arms. Swinging her around as if she weighed nothing, he heard rather than understood his happy laugh and hers. It was like all was right in the world.

"Put me down this instant! I'm not a child! Eomer!", but she was laughing too hard to really put any force behind her chiding.

Bringing her down, they hugged tightly, as if they hadn't seen each other in eons, rather than days. And even as his companions caught up to him, he nearly refused to let his sister go.

But he did, and as he released Eowyn, he found Faramir smiling at him, and while he could have quibbled over the two of them out without supervision, he chose instead to embrace the man as a friend. And as he watched Aragorn embrace Eowyn, and Faramir embrace Imrahil- he found himself understanding, that this is what the future held. Rebuilding what was broken and building friendships.

A smile fitted over his face, and Eowyn made her way to his side. Even though as children, or even young adults, they had never been remarkably physically affectionate with one another, she slotted her hand into his and there it remained.

The camp broke for lunch and he hung on every word of his sister's,

"The city rejoiced when the shadow in the East broke- it was as if every single person in the city was set free from depression. There was dancing in the street and great shouting everywhere. Someone popped champagne over me and my hair was doused, but I just had laughed and stayed out with Faramir and Lothiriel, dancing and celebrating until past nightfall. Since that day though, you'd be hard pressed to find 'Thiri or her colleagues. They've been holed up repairing the city, as fast as they can."

Imrahil beamed; love had filled his eyes at the mere mention of his daughter. Aragorn asked why the rush for repairs, surely they had time.

"Oh! She actually meant for me to warn you of this. She's planned a welcome home feast tonight, and a coronation ceremony the day after tomorrow. She meant for me to give you this," Eowyn dug a missive out from her pocket, a bit crumpled, and sheepishly gave it over to Aragorn.

Quickly he popped the wax seal and read over it, laughed, and it passed it to Imrahil, "It would seem Lothiriel is eager to shed the expectations of being Steward, Imrahil. She's gone and planned the whole thing."

Imrahil laughed as well and read aloud-

"'Aragorn, the time has come to shuck this whole besieged Ranger thing and become King of Gondor. For once, please don't argue, the seat of this throne is very uncomfortable and I think someone else has warmed it long enough for even your primped self.' This is the kind of love letters you two write to one another?", he teased.

Everyone laughed again at the future King of Gondor's expense, who spread his hands wide and said, "I'm honestly surprised there's no curse words in there!"

Eowyn giggled, but Eomer watched as she stared longingly at Faramir, as if thinking of her own love letters. There was no hope for those two the; Faramir broke his stare at Eowyn long enough to say,

"She spoke with me, and I told her I saw the whole thing already occur in foresight, or else I'm sure she would have waited to consult you on the matter."

But it was Gimli who replied, "If I know the lass, I'm not sure she would have!"

Hearty merriment resounded from the group, and they all saddled up to ride the last few miles to Minas Tirith.

And as they entered the gates, crowds had gathered. They waved flowers, throwing petals over the men, and songs and bell peals rang out. It was joyous, and Eomer couldn't stop grinning. The streets circled up the seven layers of Minas Tirith, and finally reached the top layer, where the precipice jutted out over the city. There, at the end, right near the edge, stood the council members of Gondor and Dol Amroth wearing their finery, and there she was- Lothiriel.

She looked resplendent, in a gauzy gown that whipped in the wind. Her hair was caught up on the back of her head, but loose tendrils flew about her face- and a mad grin was splayed on her face. She looked younger than her twenty-something years, with childlike excitement practically vibrating her even though she stood in place.

Eomer could have pinpointed the moment she saw her father, because immediately whatever had held her to that spot on the wall, released her and she ran straight into his awaiting arms.

It was much the same as his reunion with his sister, but as soon as her father was done hugging her, one of her brothers took his place, then another. Amrothos was the last to get a hug and he literally tossed her into the air and caught her.

It was magic and beauty personified to watch her, and then she looked over Amrothos' shoulder and caught him staring.

Her smile widened, and her light blush grew redder. He couldn't help himself from smiling, and then he winked at her. To his great delight she laughed at that, and for a second, in the hubbub it was like it was just the two of them- petals swirling through the air and the music playing from every corner everywhere suddenly all happening in slow motion.

Eomer would have liked to remain in that moment- perhaps for forever. And if he thought that they would listen, he would have asked the Gods for that.

But too quickly he watched Aragorn sidle up to her. His heart sank just a bit as he watched Lothiriel embrace him same as she did her brothers- tightly and as if she had missed him a great deal.

So he spun to his sister, to Eothain and Erkenbrand, who were laughing and shouting bawdy things in Rohirric to their countrymen. He laughed and couldn't find it in himself to be sad about anything- even though so many had just died, it was a day of triumph and celebration.

And then he felt it, a small hand slip into his own, and he found Lothiriel at his side, hair now completely fallen down and floating about her shoulders. She smiled up at him, and he smiled back at her.

Her other hand reached up, and Eomer thought it might touch his cheek, but it stopped short. She lifted the leather cord that just peeked out from underneath his breastplate, and pulled at it, til her ring was spinning in the air between them.

"It worked then? You've come home safe."

He breathed out a sigh of relief, and gripped her hand tightly.

"Safe and sound, your highness. Your token seems to have some magic quality about it."

She smiled and took her eyes from the ring and brought them to his-

"Magic? Surely you don't believe in all that."

"Right now, I'm fairly certain magic is all I believe in."

"Nevermind," Eomer thought, "if all I had was just one moment to live in for the rest of my life, I'll choose this one."

* * *

Lothiriel, with a few glasses of wine already in her, giddily felt the night's festivities were sure to carry on til morning, and the feast had just barely ended. The sheer enjoyment of the moment had carried her right through dinner and had landed her in middle of the dancing hall.

The minstrels began their tune, and ladies looked for their respective partners. She watched Faramir scoop Eowyn immediately away, and surely would tease her friend about that tomorrow. But for now, she looked about for tall, blonde mane, and then a hand came down upon her shoulder.

Had years of training not been instilled, she would have yelped, such was her surprise. Her father was standing behind her, and whispered,

"Shall we, little Rhovaniel?"

"Of course, Ada! But we're still calling me wild, even in my best dress?" she said laughingly as he swept her onto the dance floor.

"Little one, you shall _always_ be my Rhovaniel," and the dance begun.

Quickly dance after dance was taken up by family and friends alike, and she reunited with her father for one of the sweet, slow ones. How wonderful it felt to be curled in his arms, and know such parental love.

Denethor had not been kind, taking her away from her father so young. She had learned self-reliance because of it, but their relationship for the last thirteen or so years had existed in visits. Stolen moments, in between his duties and hers. Truthfully, most of her drive had come from the wish to make her father proud and she had lived for those stolen moments for most of her teenage years.

Even the wishing for a dance with Eomer was quiet for a brief second, and her father tightened his grip on her,

"'Thiri, you've grown up."

"I certainly am taller now, Ada."

"Not just taller. You've grown lovelier, kinder, and more intelligent than your mother and I ever dreamed of you becoming. She would be so proud."

Lothiriel would have cried, so great was her emotion in the moment, but she just tucked her face tighter into her father's neck.

"It seems to me." Imrahil continued on, "you would make a fantastic Queen. Aragorn could do no better.

She stiffened at that; raising her head to meet his eyes, "Ada. I have no aspirations to be Aragorn's queen."

"But why, Lothiriel?"

"Because-" but she had to pause, not trying to give away anyone's secrets. "Because he could never love me."

"Daughter, not all marriages get the chance to fall in love before their wedding- your mother and I were but strangers when we were wed."

"I know, father, I do. But surely, you must realize, that would be like asking me to marry Faramir, or Elphir. I have known him since I was a child, and we see one another as a friend alone." Gently, she tried to hammer home the truth- she would never marry Aragorn.

He had been an old man, though he didn't look it, when they met.

And his heart would always be Arwen's. And while Lothiriel had no illusions's about a Princess getting to marry on love alone, she could never imagine a life where she played so obviously second fiddle in someone's heart.

Plus she had met Arwen- they had been friends, even! Lothiriel was under no illusions that she was anything but ugly, but Arwen's preternatural beauty was not something she'd like to compete with.

All these reasons, she could voice to her father, but there was two she couldn't. Not until she knew for sure.

Both she had private hopes for. One was tall and blonde, heroic and dashing. The other lay on her office desk, and was a letter bearing Arwen's hand.

"All I ask is that you think of it," Ada said. Sweetly spinning and turning her away into someone's awaiting arms.

It was Eomer.

Maybe it was the wine, or the fact that her father was completely insistent on the wrong King, but she found the whole thing so riddled with irony all she could do was laugh.

"Milady, what could be so funny?", he asked bringing her close in her arms.

She shook her head still chuckling, and twined her arms about his neck. He was almost a head taller than her, and she was tall for a woman.

Closeness here seemed more intoxicating than the wine, and the two circled about the room slowly.

"My father is just barking up the wrong tree."

"What doe you mean, milady?"

She tilted her head and switched the subject, "Why do you call me 'milady?"

"Oh apologies, would you rather me call you My Lord?", he raised his eyebrow and smiled down at her.

"No, but you shouldn't have to call me that or your highness. You should call me Lothiriel. Firstly, you outrank me."

"I keep forgetting that," said Eomer with a hint of sadness.

She nodded, and asked, "Because you didn't think you would be King?"

"No even thought I wouldn't, I didn't want it at all. I don't know how to do this, whatever this is."

Lothiriel nodded, and opened her mouth to say something- just as the song ended. A quick tempo-ed dance number began, one of the ones where you'd exchange partners every half second, and she was in no mood to let the moment escape with Eomer. Pulling him aside from the dance floor she made it out onto one of the balconies.

Eomer looked amused at being pulled about, and she said, "You might not have ever wanted the crown, but in my experience that is the one who should lead. You'll make a wonderful King."

"You say that, not knowing of the challenges that are mine alone to fix. My people's homes have burned and their fields have no harvest."

She had thought of this, Rohan's proximity to Isengard, Dunland, and Mordor had surely taken their toll. Her friends had told her of what struggles the Mark would face when she had asked,

"Then ask Gondor for aid. Surely we owe you, you renewed the Oath when you didn't have to. We would have died, but for Rohan's aid."

He laughed, but there was no humor behind it, "It's the Riddermark, milady. They don't take kindly to charity."

"Its not charity- its… its deserved. An equal ratio if there ever was one."

He stared at her face, heavy hints of exasperation, but also as if it were more dear to him than everyone's else. She felt herself blush at such a blatant inspection, but never wavered.

His hand came up, and touched her jawline, holding her cheek. The longing was in his eyes again, and Lothiriel was sure he was going to kiss her- but he just said,

"Was there a secondly?"

"What?" She had no idea what he was talking about, and he breathed a laugh at that. She felt his laugh wash over her face, so close had they become.

"A second reason I should call you Lothiriel. You said firstly."

"Secondly? I suppose I think you just should. You can even call me 'Thiri."

"Mmm, your father calls you that." His Rohirric accent, usually not apparent at all when he spoke the common tongue, was heavier when he slipped into a near whisper.

"He also calls me Rhovaniel, but you don't hear me offering that to you."

Apparently Eomer was brushed up on his Elvish, because he truly laughed out loud at that. Warmth flushed through her at that, and she stepped even closer to him.

"He calls you 'Wild Daughter'? Why am I not surprised?"

"You really ought not to be." She said smiling and reached up on her toes to kiss him.

Eomer responded rather enthusiastically to that, immediately closing his other hand over her waist, bringing her flush to his front. The hand that had been on her cheek now tangled in her hair, tying her firmly to his mouth.

Lothiriel had been kissed before, several times in fact, but nothing quite like this.

This one felt like she'd never have another first kiss again.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning Eomer found himself beyond busy, giving him his true first glimpse of being King. It was a million demands on his time- first going with Eowyn to the Houses of Healing to see his injured men, then a lunch meeting with Gandalf about watching over the ruins of Isengard, then immediately being ushered into a meeting with Erkenbrand and Eothain, and several other members of the Eoreds from West Helment and East Helment.

Had Eomer not been in the presence of friends who had known him for forever, who had seen him since before he led his own Eored, surely he would have been overwhelmed.

There was so much pressure as King, pressure he had seen weigh on Theodred and Theoden with a million times, but never imagining himself under. His kinsman asked a million questions-

"How do we deal with the burned down villages? How do we rebuild when the forests have been decimated? What will they have to eat this winter? When should we schedule Theoden's funeral?"

Eomer asked them all for guidance when it fit, and when it didn't, he did his best to appear as if there were certainly answers to these questions. He just hadn't thought of them.

"I will have to beg Aragorn for the resources," and the thought left an ashy taste in his mouth.

But everywhere Eomer looked in Minas Tirith, he saw the places Aragorn would have to rebuild as well. How could he ask his friend to sacrifice so much for people that were not his own? But if Lothiriel was to believed, Gondor would have no trouble answering the call.

_Lothiriel. _Even her name sparked through him. He wished for her beside him, with her cheerful optimism that never rang naive. She would know the words to say that soothed his men, rather than just slapping a facade onto it. And she understood better than anyone the pressures of ruling, and she would tell him she believed in him.

He had sworn to himself last night he wouldn't pursue her, not if she was to be someone else's. But she looked so lovely; laughing and dancing with her family. And then she took him aside and looked at him with such certainty in her gaze.

It meant something, everything, that she thought he was going to be a good king.

After their kiss last night, Eomer knew her feelings for him were more than that of friends. Would have been hard to miss that.

And, just as importantly, she was obviously not in love with Aragorn. On the balcony, he had told her his worries and she had burst into laughter.

Giving him one last kiss, she had asked him to meet her at the stables tomorrow at dinnertime. Eomer had been loathe to let her leave.

And speaking of leaving, this meeting felt as if it had no end, only more depressing questions, but then a page boy's head popped round the door,

"Pardon sires, pardon your highness. I come bearing a missive from the Future King of Gondor and the Prince of Dol Amroth," and with great flourish handed it over to Eomer.

_Eomer, _

_Please join us in the Council rooms at your earliest convenience. I believe we have much to discuss._

_-A_

"If you'll excuse me, friends. I am needed in the Council rooms." Eomer said, already edging his way out the door, "I know we have much left to discuss and we will find a time to do so in the near future."

As soon as he closed the door, he resisted the urge to slide down the wall and just rest for a second. Instead he quickly walked the hallways to Aragorn's Council rooms, where he had spent so many of his first moments with Lothiriel.

"Bema, it's like I've become a teenager, mooning over a girl like this," he thought in exasperation, and shook her out of his mind as he opened the door without knocking.

And there sat Lothiriel. Damn.

She was perched seated atop the large table, covered in papers again, with a bare feet dangling off the table. Imrahil sat several seats away from her and Aragorn across the table, all with their own piles of scrolls.

All three of them swung their heads up to look at Eomer. And then all three blinked owlishly at him.

"Uh, pardon? I mean… I was asked to come? Or was there some error?"

The men suddenly bustled into action,

"Sit! Sit, Eomer, right here beside me." Imrahil beckoned, pulling a chair out for him, right as Aragorn stood up and spilled papers down onto the floor, saying,

"Welcome, brother! Come sit beside me! We have much to discuss"

Only Lothiriel seemed calm in the moment, smiling at him from her perch, as if he were the person she most wanted to see in Middle Earth. She looked lovely, but of course she did. She always did.

"Perhaps Eomer would like to select his own seat?" She asked a bit drily.

And because he was a teenager, mooning over this girl, he took the seat at her feet.

Aragorn began,

"Eomer, Lothiriel brought to my attention the storehouses of Gondor are overwrought with provisions. Denethor was nearly manic in his taxations of the people, collecting not only gold, but meat and grain."

"And they've been storing it all in the same place for over two years," continued Imrahil. "Should these items go to rot, they will take with it everything in the storehouse, including what was recently collected. Meaning we must get rid of it- and before this winter comes, or else spring will come and we'll be overrun anyway."

"We were thinking," finished Lothiriel, "that perhaps some of the more remote places in Rohan could assist Gondor in taking these supplies off our hands."

Eomer was glad he was sitting, for surely his knees would have given out. He stared up at Lothiriel, meeting her gray eyes. She nodded, still smiling, and nudged his leg with her toes, seeming to say,

"Yes, this is real. Now say thank you."

"I think that can be arranged," he said. "What kind of provisions are we speaking of?"

And they all passed him papers, storehouse notes that showed calculations. It wouldn't be quite enough to feed the whole country, but it was a step closer, and an answer to prayers.

The four of them lost themselves in discussion, speaking of how to move the materials and what Gondor and Rohan could exchange in trade in the future, and routes for trade that had long since been abandoned.

Lothiriel noticed the sun had begun to sink and immediately started,

"Look at the hour! I'm afraid I have a commitment later this evening I must dress for."

Aragorn and Imrahil nodded, but Eomer stood confusedly, as he apparently remembered that he was supposedly her commitment later this evening.

Bless him, he was the least subtle person she'd ever met. Every emotion was straight across his face and he went for action before he'd even really thought about a thing.

"He'd make an abysmal spy," Lothiriel thought ruefully, but also found herself unwilling to wish for anything different in him. Surely one person accustomed to secrets was enough for a relationship.

Making sure her father and Aragorn were looking away, though she could swear Aragorn was smirking, she touched his elbow and murmured she'd meet him about twenty minutes in the stables.

Practically bolting from the office, she knew that Aragorn probably knew now… if he hadn't known before.

"Knows what? Knows that I kissed Eomer on the balcony last night? Knows I spent last night wondering if Rohan's green and gold will suit me?" And then Lothiriel let out a cackle, thinking about Aragorn wondering about Lothiriel's coloring.

An under servant dusting the hallway sent her a worried look, and scuttled away. Right, she probably looked insane, but that didn't stop her from giggling to herself on the way to her rooms-

"I'm riding out to seek Aragorn a wife, with the man who's wife I hope to become maybe one day, all to get my father off my back about becoming a wife to the first man," it could have been confusing, were she not exhausted enough to find the humor in it.

Lothiriel scrambled out of her fancy gown, not even bothering with a maid, and quickly pulled on riding clothes and boots. It would be dark yes, but she didn't really need the scrutiny of people wondering about her and Eomer, so she tucked her dark hair back under a hood.

Easing out the rear entrance to her rooms, she made her way to the stables on the first level of the city.

Lothiriel was more experienced on the political, informational side of spycraft- more often than not the better disguise for her was hidden in plain sight. Jewels and a low necked gown would get her more answers than skulking about in an all black outfit, but she still could move silently through the world, and fight if need be. Halbarad had made sure of that.

She found her horse in the stables and hugged his neck, a tall Bay stallion named Galador, after the first Prince of Dol Amroth.

He snorted into her hair, ruffling her hair. Galador found her ear with his velvety lips, and Lothiriel giggled again (truly what joy these last days had wrought, that she could laugh this often),

"Really, Galador, it's like you're a feral beast. Here-" she said supplying him with a sugar cube to munch on as she gathered his saddle.

She hadn't even gotten his bridle on, when she heard Eomer enter the stables quietly. His even footsteps stopped outside Galador's box and she teased,

"Trying to sneak up on me? You're not quite good enough for all that."

She swung around to look at him, as he huffed a laugh.

"Not sneaking, just watching."

She leaned up against the half door that his forearms already rested on.

"Watching me?" He leaning in to share the same breaths,

"Watching you. Or rather watching your butt in these breeches."

Lothiriel should have been aghast, and probably should have smacked him, but common sense took a back seat to leaning in those scant few inches to kiss him.

The kiss was short and sweet. His beard tickled her cheeks, and his hand threaded beneath her hood and through her hair to cradle her to him. Her heart melted into a puddle at his tenderness.

But soon enough, he peeled away, letting loose a string of Rohirric curses. Her Rohirric was good enough to know he wasn't upset with her, but rather with himself.

"Just saddle up your horse, Lothi," he said as she couldn't help but laugh at him.

He quickly saddled and mounted Firefoot, and met Lothiriel outside where she was waiting on Galador.

"Perhaps, you'd like to tell me what it is we are doing. Or should I just call this a kidnapping?"

"Yes, you're being kidnapped on your own separate horse," she said, "I'll explain when we get to the trees beyond," she said pointing at the forest line.

"Then you'll need to keep up!" Eomer whooped and let Firefoot bolt.

Lothiriel did an admirable job keeping up, and Eomer was glad to see it. Her being a fine horsewoman was not necessarily a requirement, but his people would be glad to see her sit so well on a giant horse.

When they reached the tree line, Eomer slowed down and watched as Lothiriel took down her hood.

In the now full evening, her gray eyes caught the moon. Her dark hair, her tanned face, and her dark clothes blended her right into the shadows, but her eyes shined like stars in the darkness.

She smiled at him and dismounted from her horse.

"We'll take off from here on foot, its not far at all."

"What, exactly, isn't far?", he said, dismounting and tying up Firefoot next to Galador.

"A friend."

"What kind of a friend?"

"A friend of many years."

Eomer stopped dead in his tracks, giving Lothiriel the most withering stare he could come up with.

She laughed, and reached out to lay a hand on his arm, and pulled him into motion once more, "I joke. We're going to see if a friend from Aragorn's past decided to stay in Middle Earth."

"Stay in Middle Earth? As opposed to…?"

"As opposed to sailing onto the Grey Havens."

Eomer stopped again.

This time Lothiriel kept moving, forcing him to start moving again to keep up as she walked through the woods with the air of someone who had walked this path many times before.

"So, this Elf-friend…" Eomer said, "was she your friend as well?"

Gratifyingly, Lothiriel smiled at him as he caught exactly who they were going to meet.

"Her name is Arwen, and yes, she was very much my friend. She wrote me a letter a few days ago, after the sunlight broke in the East, but before you returned from battle. She wrote she was very much considering forsaking immortality, like Luthien in the stories. She asked if could let her know if certain people had survived the Battle. Really one specific person."

"Arwen, I believe I've heard that name before. She and Aragorn were, friends?"

Lothiriel shrugged, "They were more than friends, but neither was particularly inclined to fill me in on the sordid details of decades past. I know Aragorn once asked her father if he could marry her."

"Is that customary?" Eomer asked.

"What?" she said back, trekking over a particularly intense hill, "the asking of her father or being married?"

If she were a few paces closer Eomer might have pinched her, but instead he just asked,

"The asking, Lothi."

"Mm-hm. It is in Gondor, and I imagine it would be the same in Rivendell." Eomer marveled at that. An entire tradition predicated on the idea that women couldn't be trusted to know exactly who they wanted to marry- "Is it not the same in Rohan?"

"Not at all. By the age of eighteen, a woman is considered independent enough to make those decisions for herself. Why do you think I haven't raised a fuss about her and Faramir?"

"I thought perhaps you had said something privately."

"No, I'd prefer to keep my limbs attached and my face unscathed."

Lothiriel grinned back at him over her shoulder- "I'd prefer that as well, if I get a vote."

They walked on silently for a second, easing over fallen trees and quiet streams in the dark forest- the light of the moon breaking through in uneven beams. Serene yes, but made him miss the open plains of Meduseld where the view of the stars was always unobstructed.

Eomer cleared his throat, "What you did for Rohan today… I don't think you'll ever know how much we… or really I appreciate you."

"I took to heart what you said about your people's reluctance to accept charity." Lothiriel spoke quietly, dropping her light attitude, "Is it enough, though?"

Now walking side by side, Eomer shook his head, "No. But its quite a bit, though. Its just that the Dunlendings and Saruman practically razed our growing fields to an unusable point, and the rebuilding we'll be facing will take most able bodied men away from the fields anyway. So what you've provided will have to get us through the winter, though it may be a bit tight… It will have to be enough. I hope Faramir didn't have high hopes for Eowyn's dowry- even if she is the King's sister."

"He is walking away from the Stewardship with all his holdings in Ilithien, so I think he should be… wait a moment. What did you just say?", Lothiriel had stopped dead in her tracks.

"I said the winter will be tough?", Eomer stopped to watch her face. Something in her eyes read as shock or astonishment, but her face was held at a careful neutral.

"No, about her… nevermind. What would Rohan need, if aid was a given?" She started walking again, but Eomer could see her mind was racing. As she caught up to his side, he caught her elbow, bringing to another halt. His other hand caught her chin, bringing her eyes to his.

"Lothi, what?"

"I can't tell you yet. Not until I know it will work."

It was then Eomer heard a twig snap, and his instinct took over- pushing Lothiriel behind him and immediately pulling the knife he had in his boot, looking for whatever had made a noise.

What he wasn't expecting to find was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Truly. Glowing beyond what nature allowed; frightening almost in her beauty.

She was dressed like Lothiriel, and the two favored each other- dark hair, light eyes, and inscrutable faces that still managed to appear somewhat kind. But this elf lady looked almost untouchable, like a perfect marble statue. Even though Lothiriel looked more like the Iluvitar than most, Eomer, faced the realness of the other, found himself aware in an instant, he preferred the soft imperfections of Lothi's auburn tinted hair and freckles.

This had to be Arwen, Aragorn's Arwen. And as if she could read his mind, Eomer had heard some elves could do that, she smiled slightly and nodded.

It was then Eomer saw the several other elves lurking in the distance. Men and women all in elegant, but comfortable walking clothes. There must have been about forty of them.

Lothiriel stepped out from behind him, and the slight smile on Arwen's face broke into a grin. Like they were closer to sisters rather than the acquaintances they'd been described as- the two ran to hug each other, laughing and pulling each other hard into an embrace.

A tall, formidable Elf wearing a a crown on his long dark hair, stepped up to put a hand on Arwen's shoulder as the girls broke away to chatter happily in Elvish. Lothiriel curtsied long and deep to him, and continued speaking in Elvish to them both.

Eomer's elvish wasn't nearly good enough to keep up with the conversation, but he knew enough to quietly put the knife away back into his boot- and out of the corner of his eye an elf he hadn't seen yet lowered a strung bow.

"And this is Eomerking, of Rohan," said Lothiriel suddenly in the common tongue, "Eomer, this is Arwen Undomiel and her father Elrond, Lord of Rivendell."

The noble elf Lord bowed to Eomer, and as he bowed back Elrond spoke.

"And so we have come to be in Gondor, Princess Lothiriel of Dol Amroth and Eomerking of Rohan."

"Yes, for the coronation of the King Elessar, as they are to call your adopted son."

True sadness showed in Elrond's eyes, as he nodded his assent. But Arwen shown like a star in the darkness, she looked so joyful and perfect it was hard for Eomer to even bear looking at her. Lothiriel slotted herself against Eomer's side- where he was certain they looked as humble as humanity could against elves. Lothiriel spoke,

"Let us discuss, then, how tomorrow may go…"


	4. Chapter 4

Eomer found himself wide awake before dawn, despite the fact he and Lothiriel hadn't slipped back into Minas Tirith's gates until well past midnight. With her hood slipped back on and quiet footsteps she weaved through holes in the cities defenses surely no one else knew about. The elves were to enter the city in the morning, with Arwen hidden amongst them.

The surprise was the women's idea- something Lothiriel had been so excited about she clapped her hands and jumped up and down when they agreed upon it. Elrond, who looked depressed at mere thought of his only daughter marrying into the mortal realm, even managed a smile at her glee.

Eomer rose out of bed, and stood beside the darkened window- right beside where the most Kingly outfit he'd ever seen was laid out for him to wear to Aragorn's coronation.

"It shouldn't have been me," he thought, sighing deeply, "in these clothes, wearing this crown. But it's my lot now, better to make the most of it."

The most of it. Eomer knew how to be a good Marshall, and a fine nephew and brother. But what did he know of navigating the hardships of being King? He and Aragorn would surely continue in lockstep- writing letters and riding together whenever the Oath of Eorl called upon them. Their brotherhood and Aragorn's example would be the guiding light for how he wanted to rule.

But he knew in his heart that he needed something more- someone to share the daily tasks, someone who was politically savvy to counter his direct, military style, someone to soften his hard edges, someone to make him laugh, someone who falling asleep beside would be the inducement to get through the day.

"If I weren't King would I feel the same way about her?" he questioned, "but that's a moot point because if I were a man and not King, I would never have had the opportunity to pursue her. She would be a Princess and I would just be the Third Marshall of the Riddermark… but I still would have found her the most clever and mischievous, and yet also the most hardworking woman I'd ever met. And her beauty still would be nigh on impossible to resist."

To have looked Arwen's supernatural beauty in the face, and still find himself waking to thoughts of Lothiriel… That meant something, didn't it?

There weren't many objections to his pursuing courting Lothiriel. His people would love her; of that he was certain. The prejudices against Gondorians in Rohan couldn't stand a change against Lothiriel's capability and determination.

His counselors would see the advantages to a closer match with Gondor and Dol Amroth. Imrahil often had referred to Eomer as a fourth son. Eowyn would adore Lothiriel even more than she already did.

But would she be happy in Rohan? Away from everyone she ever knew, with just his recalcitrant self to sit, work, and sleep beside?

Eomer scratched his beard, and gave up such a line of thinking. Better to get dressed and start the day in the quiet of the morning while he still had a chance.

Donning the overly embroidered tunic and cape, and not pausing to look in the mirror he burst into the hallways, only to immediately find Lothiriel sitting on the floor outside his rooms.

"We've got to quit meeting like this, Princess Lothiriel."

She weakly smiled. This time she wasn't covered in papers, she just clutched one in her white knuckled fist. Her finery this time was grander than anything he'd ever seen her in. A golden gown shimmered in the torchlights and a cape hissed along the floor as she stood and stepped towards him. Her hair was down and a tiara shaped like overlapping swan wings sat atop her head. Eomer reached out his hand and adjusted it, easing that down to cup her jaw.

"As long as I've known you Lothi', I've never seen you look scared."

She breathed out and leaned in to rest her head on his chest. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and held her close.

And in that moment, Eomer realized-

"Whatever I can do do take away her pain, whatever the cost, I'd probably do it. And it would never have mattered how or when we met, I'd have ended up holding her just this same way."

She leaned away, so that his tight embrace became his arms resting lightly on each of her shoulders.

"Eomer. What I am about to say is absolutely insane. And if you say no, I'll understand. This is the most unnerving thing I've ever done," she looked away and sighed. "I may have read too far into every moment, every thought I've had may be unfounded and you should probably run screaming away from me."

Eomer opened his mouth to object, and her hand immediately covered it-

"Please don't- I'll just say my peace and be done with it," but then she hesitated instead of speaking.

The two were just standing that way, with her hand still over her mouth when a servant bumbled into the hallway, took one look at the two royals locked together and immediately turned around and slammed the door shut.

Before the echo from the door subsided, Eomer burst into laughter. It seemed the two of them were destined for interruption. Lothiriel laughed too, but it petered out and he found her staring at him, peculiarly transparent for once. She looked soft, happy, and more than a little terrified.

His arms were moving up her neck, to tangle in her hair when she breathed out, oh so quietly,

"Marry me."

His hands immediately stopped.

The two stared at each other in perfect stillness.

And then Lothiriel bustled into action, shoving her piece of paper into his face,

"I've worked out what my dowry would amount to, if you were to take it in trade-able items rather than the gold its currently allotted to. It would be enough to carry the Riddermark through two winters, twice as bad as the scholars think this one is to be- which is to say, Rohan would be fine. Your people need this, and I can provide it. I am, or until Aragorn marries Arwen, the highest born noblewoman in Middle Earth- and- and… and say something, Eomer."

Eomer was still frozen, unblinking. His mind had grinded to a complete halt, and was like a stubborn gelding- unwilling to move no matter how the rider encouraged it.

"It's fine, it's totally fine." She continued, getting slightly pitchier, "I completely understand, I'm sure you didn't think of me in that way, I mean other than the kiss, which I sure you've kissed plenty of ladies, its just that I thought that it made sense, you know? You and I?", Lothiriel said as she desperately tried to untangle herself from Eomer before he could see the tears rushing to her eyes.

"Its no big deal, please let go of me," but Eomer held her head tighter, holding her in place. She then stopped trying to squirm away, "I'm sure I've ruined my hair and that the kohl around my eyes has already run down my cheeks, and oh Elbereth, what will my father think?"

It was then Eomer's mind began working again, and the thought unbidden came,

"This girl was born to be in the Riddermark, she doesn't even think to ask her father's permission before getting engaged to someone," and all he could do was burst into laughter.

The deep kind, where he had to let go of her face in order to better hold his sides which felt like they were splitting. He hadn't laughed like this in maybe ten years. Collapsing against the floor, he just kept guffawing, wiping tears away from his eyes. He saw Lothiriel looked aghast but all that did was make him laugh harder.

This mad woman had no idea what he most wanted in the world was to marry her. Above even his duty to his people (something he would never shirk) he wanted to be hers and he wanted her to be his.

Lothiriel tried to stay mad, after all the reaction she had just received to her figurative and literal proposal was less than ideal, but eventually she couldn't help her heart from melting just a bit further.

She had seen Eomer smile, laugh even, and she knew from both her spying and what Eowyn had told her, he was infinitely more likely to in her vicinity. But this completely light-hearted hysterics took years off his face and he looked like a teenage boy again, shed of worry lines and hard decisions.

She couldn't help herself from just the tiniest of smiles, and recognized the exact same thought she'd had last night, trying to work out if her plan was insane or made even a lick of sense,

"If love even exists, then this is the most sure base for it I've ever found."

Watching his happiness amounted to her own, even in a moment when she should have wanted to rip his head off.

His cackles eventually subsided into giggles, and he reached out his hand to her. Hesitantly she rested her hand on his, the one with all the Dol Amrothian rings on it, missing the one that still hung around his neck. Gently tugging her hand, she was led to kneel beside him on the floor of the hallway.

The two faced each other and she watched his face dissolve laughter into tenderness and he gently rubbed his thumb over her knuckles,

"Lothi, tell me you aren't doing this only for my people. I refuse to take you away from the only home you've ever known to a strange, new land on the basis of duty alone."

"I- Its…" she tried, but found no words. "Its a part of it, Eomer. Duty is all I've ever known."

At that he frowned, and began to release her hand. Disappoint was etched on his face. She scrambled to hold his hand tighter,

"But there's a part of it that I'm unsure of. That I'm gambling on. And that part is my heart. I think… I think it's yours."

Smiling his best smile, Eomer said to her-

"You need never gamble, my heart's been yours since the first moment I stepped into this hallway and found you there."

And so Eomer, King of Rohan, leaned in to kiss Princess Lothiriel of Dol Amroth, former regent stewardess of Gondor in the same hallway they had met in, just weeks prior. They had known each other for seven days, and maybe as many laughing breakdowns.

But that was the magical quality of their love, though he alone was willing to name it. She made him laugh in the darkest moments he'd ever known, and he made her certain when she was raised on a steady stream of hiding emotions and changing tides.

* * *

The sun bursting in through the windows of the hall was the thing that broke the two apart. Laughing the two walked towards the bustle of the coronation ceremony about to begin, and laughing the two parted. Lothiriel was to assist Gandalf during the ceremony and Eomer was to stand beside Imrahil in a place of honor.

Eomer gave a cursory look around, and leaned in to kiss her swiftly. Such was her joy all she could do was hang propriety and threw her arms about his neck. He picked her up and spun her about. One more kiss and then it was time to leave and find his place.

As soon as he left her, behind the great oak doors were she was to meet Aragorn and Mithrandir, she heard a voice say-

"I take it you asked then?"

Faramir smiled at her from the shadows of the hall. Lothiriel grinned,

"Am I to have no secrets from the great Faramir, seer of all?"

"Surely no, for the gift I was cursed with, woke me up many days ago to tell me you would be the future Queen of Rohan."

Even hearing it confirmed was enough of a joy to overshadow the nerves of hearing her future title, but Lothiriel had to ask,

"And who, may I ask, is to be the greatest objector to my future marriage? I can only hope your curse, as you call it, gives me at least a little help amidst all the invasion of privacy."

Faramir laughed as he gave Lothiriel a hug, "Surely you don't need the gift of foresight to know your brothers and father will have many questions for you. Oh little 'Thiri, how long had our world been just you, I, and Boromir- trying to keep this city alive."

"The darkness has faded, Faramir. Now it is time to live in the sun," she said squeezing the sides of her only surviving cousin.

"I couldn't have said it better myself, Princess Lothiriel," Gandalf boomed as he stepped into the hallway. He was followed by Aragorn, who in his finery, looked every inch the King he was born to become.

She smiled as Faramir bowed to them all and left to find Eowyn outside in the crowds celebrating beyond the doors.

A servant handed Lothiriel a pillow, with the crown of the reunited kingdoms on it. Gandalf, Lothiriel, and Aragorn stared down at the crown shaped like feathers, but with the White Tree of Gondor emblazoned on the front. The crown that King Elessar of the Reunited Kingdoms would alone wear since Isuldur's despair.

Aragorn spoke quietly into the silence, "I understand congratulations are to be in order, 'Thiriel," and Gandalf chuckled.

"Do not fret, Aragorn, I'm sure your own congratulations are on their way," she replied archly, nodding to the servants to begin opening the door.

Gandalf swept out into sunlight to the roar of the crowd.

Straightening her shoulders, Lothiriel heard Aragorn say over the cries- "I'm not sure I understand."

"You will. As soon as you've been coronated, walk into the crowds, okay?" She said, throwing one last smile over her shoulder, and she stepped into the day.

People as far as the eye could see cheered as she, holding her pillow, walked out. She took her place off to the side and watched as her friend, with all the humility and gentleness he contained, walked into his future.

The coronation itself was short and sweet, she quickly passed the crown to Gandalf, who then transformed Aragorn into King Elessar.

More than a decade has passed since she'd met Strider the Ranger, but Lothiriel felt as if she was seeing her liege with brand new eyes as he spoke words of kindess, words of healing, and words of grace into the crowd. Her eyes met Eomer's, who presumably had not taken his eyes off her for a moment of the ceremony.

"This is to be the future then," Lothiriel thought, "Suffering produced endurance. Endurance produced hope. And hope is all I can see on the horizon."

* * *

Eomer found his way to her side as the celebrations began. The sun was high in the sky by now, and King Elessar had found Arwen Undomiel, who was to be his Queen.

Watching Imrahil's face at the revelation that Aragorn's love was none other than the daughter of one of the Iluvitar ranked among his favorite parts of the day. His jaw nearly hit the floor, and he looked at Eomer with such surprise Eomer nearly felt bad about the conversation with Imrahil he was sure to have before the sun had sunk into the sky.

For now though, he eased his way to Lothi's side, where she shimmered in the mid morning sun. Her hair looked more red than ever, and between her golden skin and her golden dress she looked like she was set ablaze. Maybe that was her eyes though, which sparked in him such deep satisfaction and joy he could barely contain it.

So contain it, he didn't and he looped his arms about her side, holding her close. Petals were raining down again, but this time he felt no uncertainty.

"She asked for your hand. She wants to be with you. She will be your Queen," every thought was another realization.

For the first time since Eomer's battlefield coronation, he wasn't afraid of the next day to come. But this all hinged on Imrahil giving his blessing for both a quick engagement and their marriage in general.

So when the festivities began in earnest; drinking, feasting, and dancing- he stood with Lothiriel on the fringes of the event, quietly speaking. Between the two of them, a plan was hatched for how to guide Imrahil to his own understanding of what was best for them, for their countries, and for their families.

But what no one accounted for, was Amrothos.

Breaking into the easy solitude which they had cut out for themselves in the corner of the ballroom, Amrothos said,

"You know, 'Thiri. Every one in Gondor thinks you're the only one who has secrets. Well, not everyone. But those who know what we know, about what you know, know. Thinks that."

"Amrothos, are you drunk?" Lothiriel asked, while Eomer scowled at his intrusion.

"Well, I just might be. Erchirion and I had a little bit of a drinking competition," he hiccuped loudly, "and I'd like you to know- I won. Handily I might add."

"Cheers then, brother, but if you don't mind-" Eomer tried, only to be loudly cut off by the aforementioned brother.

"Eomer! 'Thiri, why didn't you tell ussssssss." Erchirion slurred, bursting out from behind a column.

"Tell you what?" Lothiriel had begun to inch into Eomer's side, clearly sure where this was going but unwilling to out her own self.

"Tell us about you two. About your loooooove." Erchirion began to croon, only to have Amrothos attempt to harmonize and fail miserably.

"Perhaps we can discuss this in a more private place," Eomer tried again, only to once more be interrupted by Lothiriel's last brother-

"Eomer! What is this rumor I hear about you and my sister, oh hello 'Thiri," said the thankfully coherent Elphir.

Eomer was flabbergasted. He had never before counted the blessing of having just one sibling, but now he saw the merit of just one.

"Hi Elphir," Lothiriel said, "perhaps you could illuminate me on to what exactly is being said out there."

"Oh you know, just that Faramir told Eowyn, who told Arwen in their introductions, who confirmed with Aragorn, who then told Legolas, who then told Gimli, who loudly shouted across the table to Father, that congratulations were to be in short order for the King of Rohan and his future Queen. You."

"Oh Elbereth" said Lothiriel at the same time as Eomer replied,

"For Bema's sake."

The two just looked at each and an unspoken plan was agreed upon, Lothiriel was to delay her brothers from making the situation worse, and Eomer was to immediately search out her Father. Surely he couldn't appreciate that Eomer and Lothiriel had stepped so incredibly over what was tradition and practice in Gondor.

So when a quick scan of the dining hall didn't turn up Imrahil, Eomer felt panic begin to rise. Eowyn, when he met her eyes, looked dismayed and apologetic, but Faramir looked at ease- so at least Eomer could believe he'd at least live through the next few minutes. Surely Faramir would think it in his best interest to intervene if Eomer's life was at stake.

As Eomer made eye contact with Aragorn, who was seated so close to Arwen the two were scarcely identifiable as separate entities, the King of Gondor hooked his thumb over his shoulder to antechamber behind him. Eomer breathed his first true breath since Amrothos came bumbling over and headed into the room.

It was a darkened room, lit by torches and containing many seats. Maybe some sort of waiting room? But either way, the only occupant was Imrahil.

Imrahil smiled softly at Eomer as he entered,

"So its true then. You and Lothiriel?"

"Yes," Eomer figured he never gone wrong with the truth before, so may as well, "I am hoping for your blessing to marry Lothiriel."

"My only daughter," Imrahil looked away and then back at Eomer, "do you know why I hoped for her and Aragorn to wed? It wasn't because I thought they were destined for great love, as I might have once said. I was hoping for her to stay nearby."

"Would you ask her to stay nearby if you thought she had the chance at a great love? Would you ask her to sacrifice that?" Asked Eomer, as if Imrahil held a baby bird in his open hand, and a single shout would scare it away.

"Oh that I was a bit more selfish, my son," Imrahil sighed, "but I should have figured it would always end up this way."

It was then the door opened and Lothiriel deftly slid in. Looking between the two, she clearly read whatever was in the room bore good news.

"Eomer did I ever tell you why I call 'Thiri Rhovaniel?" Imrahil said, beckoning his daughter come closer. She did, but only came as far as Eomer's side. Her small hand sought out his larger one.

"My wife, bless her soul, was as soft as a sea breeze and twice as warm. Lothiriel I think inherited her good nature, but somewhere in her upbringing it became clear that she was also made of much sterner stuff," Imrahil continued, "When she was but a slip of a girl, I remember watching her get in trouble, but in equal parts reach out a hand in kindness to the townspeople and their lives. She never shirked from responsibility, but never also lost the joy in everyday moments. And no discipline could ever sway her from a belief."

"I told your mother when you were still young, 'Thiri, that you would be a Queen one day. I'm not sure why I felt it so strongly, but I did. I told her, that you weren't going to be ours for very long, but that naturally you were going to be who were meant to be. You were a wild thing, untameable, but in the best way. We couldn't have done a thing to change your destiny."

Eomer peeked at Lothiriel's face, and found her enchanted by this story she'd never heard before.

"I've known since I saw the ring on Eomer's neck that I couldn't change where your story was headed. I've knew that because that was the ring that I gave your mother. And I've still tried, wanted you for another life, simply because it was have you closer to me and I apologize for that. It was wrong."

"Ada, I'll always be your Rhovaniel. But surely you see…" Lothiriel trailed off.

"Surely you see," continued Eomer, producing their hands from behind Lothi's skirts, still held together tightly, "that you won't lose anything. That in her happiness, you'll only gain something."

"I see that very clearly now." Imrahil said, rousing himself from his chair, "but I want you both to promise me something."

In words just as hushed and reverent as wedding vows, Imrahil said, "Promise to try and make each other happy every day. Promise to value each other's opinions, to openly communicate, to give love its best shot possible. Because you never know when you may lose your love."

Unable to speak, they both could only nod.

"Then I have no worries," Imrahil said coming to embrace them both, "I freely and lovingly give my blessing."


End file.
